


Seven Minutes

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Harry Potter Next Generation, Post War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-26
Updated: 2010-07-26
Packaged: 2018-10-27 13:32:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10810008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: If she hadn’t been so drunk, Rose realized, she definitely wouldn’t have agreed to play Seven Minutes in the broom closet.  And if she hadn’t agreed to play the game, she definitely would not be shoved up against the wall in a closet much smaller than she’d have liked, trying in vain to avoid touching Scorpius Malfoy.No, she would not play the drunken tart who surrendered in her state to the enemy, handsome and brilliant though he was.





	Seven Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
> This is my first fic, ever!  Constructive criticism is ALWAYS appreciated, but please be kind.

Rose was intoxicated, that much she knew.

 

It was a new feeling, this lightheaded drunkenness, and she couldn’t say she entirely disliked it.  Rose didn’t know quite how it had come about, but through the haze in her mind she had a sneaking suspicion that it had to do with Al topping off her glass when she hadn’t been looking.

If she hadn’t been so drunk, Rose realized, she definitely wouldn’t have agreed to play Seven Minutes in the broom closet.  And if she hadn’t agreed to play the game, she definitely would not be shoved up against the wall in a closet much smaller than she’d have liked, trying in vain to avoid touching Scorpius Malfoy.

 

In hindsight, going to the sixth-years’ inter-house end of year party had been a poor choice.  She was going to kill Al.

 

“How long has it been?”  Scorpius spoke up for the first time, sounding irritatingly sober to Rose.  Her head throbbed and she awkwardly sat herself down on an overturned bucket.

 

“One minute, 45 seconds,” she slurred, checking her wristwatch.

 

“Merlin,” he whistled through his teeth.  “Well what do you suppose we do now?”

 

Rose was no fool, she knew what happened in broom closets, but hell if she was expected to do that with Scorpius Malfoy.  He wasn’t a bad looking boy by any means –- in fact, a large percentage of the female population of Hogwarts seemed quite taken with him, with his chiseled features, white-blond hair and piercing grey eyes –- but to Rose, he was a competitor.  Scorpius had been the only one of her year to challenge her standing as the best in class.  It was give and take: she’d bested him in Charms, Transfiguration, and Ancient Runes, while he was unbeatable in Herbology, Potions, and interestingly, Defense Against the Dark Arts.

 

He’d been the bane of Rose’s existence for the last six years, always so charmingly good at everything he attempted.  While Rose spent hours poring over books in the library and perfecting her skills on the Quidditch pitch, he seemed a natural at everything he attempted.  She hadn’t forgotten a few months back when they’d both taken their Apparition tests together and he’d gotten it right on the very first try.  Hot anger, fueled by the alcohol, clouded her brain as she looked up at the boy she’d been told all her life to beat.

 

No, she would not play the drunken tart who surrendered in her state to the enemy, handsome and brilliant though he was.

 

In response to her silence, Scorpius cleared his throat nervously.  Trying to come up with a safe subject, he steered towards schoolwork.  “So… how did you feel your final exams went?” he asked awkwardly, obviously aware of the transparency of his feeble attempts at conversation.

 

Rose glared at her partner in confinement, feeling the alcohol heating her bloodstream in defiant anger.  She stood, her face just inches from his, and her eyes narrowed, challenging him.

 

“Why do you want to know, Malfoy?  So you can beat my marks and have a laugh?”

 

Scorpius’ face distorted in confusion, his fair brow rumpling just above those clear, sharp eyes.  “No, Weasley.  Why would I want to do that?”

 

“As if that isn’t customary for you,” Rose accused.

 

Malfoy shook his blond head seriously.  “No matter what you may think, I respect your intelligence, Weasley.”

 

Rose cocked an eyebrow and leaned against the hard wall of the closet, anger abated but still suspicious.  “My father told me when I started Hogwarts that I was supposed to beat you in every subject.”

 

Scorpius looked more amused than befuddled now, and leaned against the opposite wall with a smirk playing across his aristocratic features.  “What did he want that for?” he asked, clearly enjoying himself.

 

“You’re a Malfoy,” Rose said simply, with wide eyes.  The liquor was doing strange things to her tongue, and these words she’d never wished to speak aloud were rolling off of it with ease.  As soon as she’d said it, she regretted it, for the eyes that danced with amusement just a moment before now turned cold and dead.

 

“That’s right.  I’m a Malfoy,” he said quietly.  “That’s all I’ll ever be, isn’t it?”

 

Rose stared at him, confused with the sudden change of mood.  In her drunken state, she knew that she’d touched on a tender subject, but wasn’t quite sure how they’d gotten there.  She went on, trying to lighten the mood.

 

“That’s not all my father asked of me, you know,” she said breathlessly.

 

Scorpius said nothing, just raised an eyebrow, allowing her to continue.  She bent her head in embarrassment.

 

“My father made me promise… he said my grandfather would never forgive me if I married a Malfoy.”  She stammered, instantly bright red and silently admonishing herself for the things she was blurting out to this boy she hardly knew.

 

She was surprised when she heard a light snort of laughter.  Looking up through her bright red curls, she saw Scorpius with an incredulous expression on his face.  Relieved that she had at least lightened the mood, Rose looked him in the eye, ignoring her burning cheeks.

 

“Why is that so funny?” she demanded of the boy.

 

Scorpius stopped laughing suddenly and met her wide eyes with his own pair of grey ones.  His gaze was softer now, with the hint of a laugh still lingering.  “Why would you ever promise something like that, Weasley?”

 

Rose gaped at him, opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water.  “Why wouldn’t I?” she finally said.  “It’s not like there’s ever a danger of that happening.”

 

Scorpius didn’t answer for a moment, just looked at her with those intense, blazing eyes.  Slowly, he brushed a stray curl back behind her ear and let his hand linger there for a moment before it came to rest at the nape of her neck.  She stilled, forgetting to breathe.  Everything that happened next came in deliciously slow motion to Rose, the way his fingers played with her curls gently, and the way his warm breath quickened upon her cheek.  She saw the way his eyes looked almost silver right up close, and could have counted his blond eyelashes that closed against her cheek.  She took in the small freckle just above his left eyebrow and wondered why she’d never noticed it before, so foreign it seemed on his otherwise smooth and unblemished face.

 

She knew what was going to happen even before it did, and yet she found she had no power nor will to stop it.  Rose waited with bated breath as his mouth lowered over her own.  Time seemed to stop completely as she felt his lips against hers, soft yet firm and unmistakably masculine, and tasting of peppermint.

 

A warming feeling spread through Rose’s entire body, as if she’d taken a large gulp of butterbeer, except the feeling stayed, burning contentedly in her stomach.  As Scorpius’ tongue flicked at her own, she felt it heat up again, threatening to engulf her in its intensity.  They stayed there, suspended in a moment for what felt like ages, entangled limbs and tentatively exploring hands.  Rose never wanted it to end.

 

Finally breathing was a necessity that neither could forgo any longer.  As Scorpius pulled away, Rose let out a small cry of disappointment that surprised even herself.  He chuckled, and rested his head against her own, he breathing in as she out.  They said nothing, but let the moment speak for itself.

 

Finally Scorpius broke the silence.

 

“Rose, I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to –-”

 

The doorknob to the closet rattled, and Rose could hear the laughing voice of Al on the other side.

 

“Your seven minutes are up!  Come on out, mates, ready or not!”

 

The door opened to reveal Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy standing as far away from each other as the cramped closet would allow, she with the infamous Weasley blush gracing her freckled cheeks and Malfoy with a slight smirk.

 

Al and the rest of the party looked on at the two with obvious disappointment.

 

“All right, all right,” Al said as he offered a hand to Rose, helping his cousin out of the broom closet.  “I should have expected this.  We know you’re at each other’s throats over schoolwork and all, but it won’t kill you to spend seven minutes in each others’ company,” he muttered good naturedly.

 

“You never know, Potter,” Scorpius said smoothly, climbing out of the closet and taking Rose’s hand in his own.  He kissed it silently as the party looked on, stunned.  “Some people may just surprise you.”


End file.
